


The Worst (Thing You've Ever Caught Me Doing)

by tisfan



Series: MCU Kink Bingo [29]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Armor Kink, Crack Treated Seriously, Don't Try This At Home, Improvised Sex Toys, Other, Selfcest, The Author Regrets Everything, Tony Stark Is Not Helping, except not really, sentient armor - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 15:40:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15027806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Impulse control; that was decidedly one of Tony Stark’s biggest problems. As in, he didn’t fucking have any. Which was how he ended up spread out on his workshop table, missing most of his clothes, and being rawed by his own armor.





	The Worst (Thing You've Ever Caught Me Doing)

_Now_

Booze was usually a good excuse, Tony decided, for doing a stupid thing. Sometimes too much caffeine, lack of sleep, drugs, or a dare -- those were all good reasons to do stupid things.

But he really just had to admit it, most of the time, he did the stupid thing because he wondered if it was _possible_. If it was something that _could be done_.

Impulse control; that was decidedly one of Tony Stark’s biggest problems. As in, he didn’t fucking have any. Which was how he ended up spread out on his workshop table, missing most of his clothes, and being rawed by his own armor.

Lack of impulse control.

***

_Forty-eight hours earlier_

Drinking and partying were getting boring, mostly because Tony hadn’t yet hit the amount of booze and drugs in his system that would make his brain shut down before Rhodey started giving him that look, and really, Tony was just getting too fucking old for his friends to stage an intervention. That was twenty-something pop-psychology bullshit. Like people thought he didn’t know when he was being self-destructive?

It wasn’t like he was unaware of what the alcohol was doing to his system, Jesus Christ, he had a fucking driver’s license, and the DMV issued a fucking test for drunk driving laws when you kinda forgot and let the damn thing expire, and yeah, okay, so that happened recently. What the hell, even. He’d passed the damn test, what more did anyone want?

But he was still trying to distract himself, because otherwise he just sat around and relived all the worst moments in his life, which always took a lot longer than, really, it should have. And so, pretty girls and beautiful boys and drinks and food and physical distraction, which kinda boiled down to--

“Aw, I swear,” the girl on his left said, running her hands down the Iron Man armor, because he’d pulled on full arm, and his boots, mostly to show off. It got him attention, and Tony loved attention. “You could just nail me in this stuff, and I would love it.”

Tony laughed at that, because honestly, she probably wouldn’t. The armor was a sexy beast, yes -- he’d designed it that way, and if he was going to do a thing, it might as well look good, as well as be effective and efficient, right? Style was a highly underrated area of genius, but Tony liked it -- but it was bulky and had a lot of edges. They’d been smoothed down, of course. It didn’t take many bruises from plate bite to decide that, really, he’d rather not do that again, but the smoothing went in, not out.

“I could just nail you, sweetheart,” Tony suggested. “Lots more comfortable. In a bed, silk sheets, skin on skin.”

She’d agreed, like Tony figured she probably would, and when he woke up the next morning with her, her girlfriend, her girlfriend’s side boy, one gauntlet, and the bruise on his hip from where he’d rolled over on top of the boot at one point, he had to admit, the armor was a little more sexy than maybe he’d thought.

Possibly.

***

_Now_

At least he’d realized fairly early into the process that the gauntlet’s fingers were longer than his own by a good two inches, and thicker in diameter than was going to be comfortable if he tried to use the armor to prep himself. Also, the plates were still likely to pinch, so a whole new gauntlet design had to be put into play before he could (ha ha) play with himself.

The new gauntlet was slender, almost delicate, with silicone molding over the joints to prevent tears. He’d also gone ahead and added the lube injection system, because why the hell not? He could think of a few times when he’d really needed lube and hadn’t had any, and he knew (from experience. _Bad_ experience.) that spit just didn’t cut it.

The fingers were still larger than his own, but that was okay. Tony’d dated a linebacker for a while, and that man had some thick fingers.

Also, harder. Fingers had a little give and take and ooooh, my god, at least the angle and ratio system was working well.

The armor pushed his legs further apart and Tony threw his head back and keened. The AI driving the armor (not JARVIS, who had flat out refused) had _perfect_ aim, and had discovered exactly where that gland was inside his body. Poking tenderly at Tony’s prostate, unrelenting, until Tony was sweating profusely, shaking all over. Oh, god, this was either the best idea or the worst idea, because the armor didn’t care how bad Tony wanted it, didn’t care how desperate Tony was… it had its own algorithm to determine when to move on to the next stage.

Tony was usually chasing more, faster, harder, but the AI was remorseless, practically torturing him with slow, steady strokes, then opening him a little more, before going back to milking his prostate.

Jesus, by the time it let him come, Tony was going to paint the fucking walls.

It was _glorious_.

***

_Thirty-seven hours earlier_

“Oh will you just go fuck yourself?” That was Senator Stern, strictly off the record because Stern was coming up for re-election soon and Tony Stark was a national treasure. Not someone he wanted to be quoted about…

But Tony knew that game.

And Tony had pretty heavily insinuated that the man was a whoremonger on national television. Everyone knew he _was_ but not saying it was yet another part of the game.

Tony didn't much like the game and he was rich enough that he didn't have to bide by any rules except the Golden Rule. He with the gold makes the rules.

“You're the second person to suggest that in the last day or so,” Tony mused, not really talking to Stern anymore. “I think it's anatomically impossible, but you let me know if you figure it out. Might want to take up yoga, though. You're just not very flexible anymore, Senator.”

***

_Twenty-one hours earlier_

“Sir, I really must object to this--”

“Eh, zip it, J. You won’t put out, you need to let me find someone who’s more interested. It’s called respecting boundaries.”

“Sir, you usually pass most boundaries at near light speed,” JARVIS remarked.

“You’re slutshaming me?” Tony looked up from the holomonitor. “Or are you jealous?”

“Neither, sir,” JARVIS said. “I am stating for the record that your lack of concern for your own well-being is, once again, truly astonishing.”

“Concern is for people who aren’t invincible sex gods,” Tony said, turning back to his schematics.

“Exactly my point, sir.”

***

_Sixteen hours earlier_

“You know, for having them pretty much my whole life, there is a lot I don’t know about boners,” Tony commented.

“Whatever you’re doing, Stark, please don’t give me any more details,” Helen Cho said. “I’ve sent my notes to your server. Have fun.”

***

_Four hours and three minutes earlier_

“Okay, seriously, that is disturbing,” Tony muttered. “Sweetheart, you gotta dial it back, like a lot. I am not a ceramic bottle, and you can’t glue my ass back together.” He looked around at the shattered mess on the floor. “DUM-E, broom duty, now. What are you doing back there?”

***

_Ninety-six minutes ago_

“Ah, that’s good, sweetheart,” Tony said. So, a balloon wasn’t the best substitute for dick, but he’d run out of hotdogs, and really, the less he thought about that mess, the happier he’d be. The basic design was good, but the gauntlet was still a little… squeezy.

The suit stroked the balloon, delicate, gently, twisting the wrist toward the top, which, Tony hadn’t told the AI to do that. But the new AI did have access to the server and the server had access to the internet, so it wasn’t like a learning AI couldn’t _learn_ , really…

“You’re doing great,” Tony said, soft, not looking away from the way the gauntlet was stroking off the balloon, the slight squeaks and squeals of the lube on rubber, the mesmerizing way it moved, gradually picking up the pace.

His mouth went dry, and there was a distinct throb just below his navel.

This could actually happen.

***

_Now_

The problem was, Sweetheart didn’t have what any rational person could call a sex drive. Tony was willing to grant his AIs a lot of independent development, but actual physical satisfaction -- while theoretical -- probably wouldn’t show up this early in the experimental stage.

So Sweetheart didn’t have any incentive to give Tony a break; begging moved the pace along not at all, and Sweetheart was unaffected by Tony’s wanton moans, the way his entire body was wracked with shivers.

Theoretically, he could safeword out, but, that seemed sort of like cheating, really.

And oh, oh, oh, god, it felt so good…

Tony threw his head back, moaned again.

“Oh, come on, Sweetheart,” Tony groaned. His dick felt like it weighed a hundred pounds at least. He could feel the sperm, swimming around in his balls, looking desperately for a way out. Every time he tried to reach for his own dick, to move things along, Sweetheart had pinned his wrists, ruthlessly, effectively. He wasn’t sure how long Sweetheart had worked him open, or how long he’d been getting fucked by a metal and silicon boner. Time didn’t have any meaning, stretched and pulled out like taffy. “Come on, come on, come on, I need…”

Sweetheart tipped the helmet to one side; theoretically the AI had the same voice capacities that JARVIS did, but they hadn’t chosen to use a word, not yet. But the head cock was pretty clear.

(Tony decided that later versions of the armor needed eyebrows. Never underestimate the expressiveness of eyebrows.)

Sweetheart pushed Tony’s leg back with one hand, thrust in again, nailing his prostate with that unfailing accuracy, and then, gently, each finger closing one at a time, stroked Tony’s aching, leaking cock.

“Oh, fucking _finally_!” Tony arched into it, thrusting up into that slick, metal palm, desperate for some friction. He was ready to go off like a damn firecracker, and he’d say it would be over embarrassingly quickly -- a dozen or so strokes -- except Sweetheart had been teasing the hell out of him for fucking ever…

It really didn’t take much more than that, and Tony was tipping over a white hot edge of pleasure so great it was almost pain. His eyeballs ached, his jaw clenched, his tongue was plastered to the roof of his mouth, and he came, so hard and so long he thought he had, quite possibly, died.

_Little death, my perfect ass_. More like medium death. Or something.

“Oh, god,” Tony said, gasping.

Sweetheart plowed him again, three, four strokes, and then the voice box made a soft sound, not quite a sigh, but the sort of noise that someone who’d never heard one before might imagine it.

“Sweetheart?”

Sweetheart drew back, pulling out. Tilted the helmet again. “Tony.” The synthesized voice wasn’t identifiable, high for a male, a little low for a female. Like Sweetheart wasn’t quite certain what they wanted to be.

“You okay?”

“Tony.” Sweetheart very gently wrapped Tony up in a mechanical hug. “Loves Tony.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. He rolled his tongue around in his mouth for a few seconds, trying to gather what remained of his wits. “That’s… uh… that’s good, Sweetheart. Yeah, that’s… that’s real good.” And he put his arms around the armor, returning the hug. He rested his cheek on a cold metal shoulder.

Could an AI love? Could an AI learn to love?

Tony hugged himself against the armor even tighter. “Love you, too, Sweetheart.”


End file.
